


The Astral Plane Or What Lies Therein

by loganberrysanders



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Logince - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-07-23 19:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16165802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loganberrysanders/pseuds/loganberrysanders
Summary: Logan, a magicless bookmaster to the Academics of Magic must recover a highly sought after text, important to the very fabric of the universe. Roman, a prince with a chip on his shoulder, has to keep a close eye on the bookmaster for the good of the Crown and must somehow regain his father’s favor before the head of the Royal Guard does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Logan, a magicless bookmaster to the Academics of Magic must recover a highly sought after text, important to the very fabric of the universe. Roman, a prince with a chip on his shoulder, has to keep a close eye on the bookmaster for the good of the Crown and must somehow regain his father’s favor before the head of the Royal Guard does._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Hello! I wanted to let you know that these chapters 1 and 2 have been revised. They are a bit shorter but that is because I broke up these earlier chapters so folks could read something shorter to see if they liked the world. In fact, in the end the content is longer and aspects have been updated. If you don't mind-- it might be worthwhile to giving it a quick re-read. I'd appreciate it. Apologies, this is my first fanfiction. Little bumpy start, eh?

“Sir, you wanted to see me?” Logan stepped into the circular ornate office.

Finding it difficult to focus on just one thing at a time, Logan's attention seemed to split between the golden whirling barometers with immaculate pinwheels and the seamless bronze tubes transporting glass marbles filled with student term papers. With these oddities surrounding him once more, Logan savored the feeling of being back at the school.

“Oh yes, Bookmaster Knowles.” The older, lanky man with a beard and rigid back turned away from what Logan recalled as his fondest model, a somewhat comparatively lame golden clawfoot apparatus. “You must know how difficult it is for me to request that you put yourself in harm’s way again so soon but--”

_Wait, no-- leave again?_ In Logan’s mind’s eye a calming blue haze crept its way into the edges of his vision. _Ah excellent._ Logan was quick to bite back any thoughts of reluctance.

_Here we go._ He neutrally projected this singular mental thought as he exhaled.

_The Astral Plane._

A wave, as Logan might best describe it to a new mage, washed up onto the mental plane. The intricacies of political exhaustion dwelled upon by the head of the school, washed ashore in Logan’s mind. Logan inhaled, as he always did, holding his thoughts back only until he could barely breathe. This sort of intrusive--well, as it was in Logan’s opinion-- exchange of thoughts was how the Astral Plane worked.

Anyone, even magicless Logan, could reach the Astral Plane if their astral studies were given proper attention. Mages studied the capacity to perceive thoughts; sensing desire was the capacity under the Royals purview.

The Academies of Magic, stone behemoths of white as their buildings were, stood well within the confines of the Realm yet, far enough away that the Royals tended to forget their existence entirely. Established by the Ontological Order, Logan was proud to be amongst recruits for keepers of true thought and the sensibility of the people. New mages studied astral curriculum to strengthen their inherent capabilities for thought perception.

The Royals, however, and very much to the chagrin of the Ontological Order, neither established a school nor had they made much use of their access to the Astral Plane in recent decades. Certainly not since the war against The Dark Sides Front broke out; a rift that persistently encroached over the edge of the horizon.

The Archmagister blamed the Dark Sides Front, the King blamed the Archmagister for said Front. While the Academies continued to teach mind-magic to any citizen, their numbers were dwindling. Battlemagic no longer was taught; except to a select few in the event of scouting missions, which were becoming peculiarly more frequent. The Royals had not spoken to the Academics in a decade, yet as the effect of the Dark Sides Front on the Astral Plane grew whereby the Mages plane drifted significantly from the Royals plane, the very notion of their shared histories was eroding with it.

No one knew if Royals even retained their power for sensing the will of the people anymore.

Logan exhaled. The mental wave receded and in the residual outline in the sands of the plane was, as Logan perceived it, disdain for King Lake.

“--a new development has arisen beyond my control, my boy,” said Archmagister Bryant, his thoughts permeating the Astral Plane to confirm what Logan already surmised.

“What seems to be the issue, Archmagister Bryant?”

“Your restoration of the vellum Codex was well-received by the Ontologic Order. They request your skills for the next recovery of their unique record. While the text itself does not have pages, it instead a gemstone, and its contents are inlaid amongst its structure.”

Logan hesitated, an attempt to bring up a rockery to dam his insecurity from flooding their plane.

“If the Order and yourself should require it, I have no reason to oppose your wishes,” his jaw was rigid.

“Excellent, glad to hear you are in agreement. I knew we could count on you, my boy.” The archmage broke their eye contact to collect a journal and a card together before continuing on with his lecture.

Logan could not tell if they had begun this session lying to one another. Technically no, but truth in the Astral Plane was not supposed to accommodate technicalities.

“Now, as for securing the text itself your mastery of mineral stabilization will again be of use--”

“Well, I would not call it mastery, Archmagister Bryant,” Logan interjected. A wave crested on his rock dam and the topmost boulders jostled. He couldn't let this get to him now.

It was not that he did not want to go, so much as he somehow did not want to leave. This, of course, makes little logical sense but Logan suspected it must make emotional sense. Exactly how this was, he did not know nor care to consider beyond the fact that perhaps he was merely averse to danger.

The vellum text had been a particularly fraught battle. The Dark Sides Front caught the scout team off guard in a messy ambush. The Front, when faced head-on, would string out the thoughts and wishes of people it engulfed, a force that fed itself by turning citizens inert. Passionless, thoughtless. The Academies could not afford to lose any member of the team; they lost one, the potioneer. Supplies of tinctures to the town would be limited for awhile.

Then there was the matter of the Codex itself; it was a particularly dangerous recovery. Laced with aromatic compounds, the highly volatile text had strong electron withdrawing groups, and could implode when mishandled. Were a mage to drop it, the energy of activation combined with the ratio of reactant energies interwoven in its pages meant a sizeable blast would occur. In their acquisition of it, it did not explode because Logan had devised a stabilizing chamber. The scout team re-grouped their synchronized wards just in time to defend the book from the Front’s descent.

And so, the Vellum Codex of Antiquities was safely returned to the Academies. Then there was the matter of its restoration.

The alchemists were too scared to touch it, but Logan trusted his approach. A dehumidifier and a simple salts solution ensured that it could be cleaned safely. With tiny boar’s hair bristled brushes, Logan painstakingly swept each vellum page to neutralize it. The hours, days and weeks rolled past. Logan excavated the gold leaf script of an arcane rune language in sweet solitude.

This was how he learned the syntax of the Codex.

Self-imposed isolation in the libraries was his job as bookmaster to the Academies. Desperate to rectify his magical deficiency, Logan liked to imagine the library as a crystalline fortress where he could study the contents of any book in privacy as he sewed them back together.

Yet, rumors of his magical ineptitude echoed amongst his walls. His peers said the Archmage pitied him; whispering that he was a pet who needed something to do. Still, Logan was satisfied; even if the vellum codex recovery mission was really only for pity's sake.

Attention from the Order, however? Their particular request was extraordinarily rare for any student. Why him?

An intermittent shower began to patter, filling the dam. “Surely the runesmiths would--”

Logan quieted as the archmage cleared his throat, turning back to him. “Yes, the runesmiths have mastery in alchemical mineralogy but consider this-- the libraries have never had such a devoted and widely-versed bookmaster. The Order has thus deemed you best suited for the recovery of this text too.”

“How is it that the Order finds me so well-suited?”

“The text is of a highly sensitive nature. Your skill in mineralogy is unique. It will be easier to ensures its stability than the vellum text but the Order also sees...,” the Archmagister gave a resigned sigh before restarting. “Well, as you are presently magically inert, you are less liable for its temptation of power. You would raise little suspicion from the Crown.”

_Politically expendable_ , Logan pelted ruefully into the reservoir waters. “Good to know there is of some higher use for an uncommonly inept mage.”

This time, Logan readjusted the hem of his vest avoiding the eyes of the archmage. A fatherly hand suddenly clamped down on to his shoulder.

“Bookmaster Knowles, that is certainly not what any of this means. For the sake of the Order, we must repair the rift ourselves. Royals be damned. Now, you have lied to me once, my boy. I expect better of you. I believe something bigger troubling you, my boy.”

_Caught like a fish._ Logan startled, started to stammer.

“The m-mage that w-went rogue--he,” Logan closed his eyes to concentrate. “Like me, did not keep well to the principles of the Astral Plane when the Academies terminated his scholarship. If-- if I never find a specialty that I can study, will I have to leave?” Logan’s gaze quickly met that of the Archmage. Logan was suffocating from the weight of his new dam now threatening to give way in the tremble of his voice. A few shameful tears leaked.

“Logan, that mage deliberately disobeyed our central tendencies for truth,” the Archmage said with reassuring emphasis. “He was a threat to the reputation of the school. You, despite your few and far between lies of omission, uphold honesty in true thought, as you are being forthright with me now. Know that when you recover this text and come back safely, my boy, you will have a life-long tenurship within the libraries here. I say this so you may know that you are not alone.”

The dam flooded and in its wake, a concept of a home dispersed into their plane. “Truly?”

“Of course,” Bryant smiled warmly, handing Logan the leather journal with the card atop. “This binding writ details the Academies commitment to you.”

“Thank you, Archmagister.”

And all the water in Logan’s mind became serene.

“In one week, you are due to Lake Castle. This journal only partially details the location of the stone residing in Drabb Keep, but unfortunately with our losses, this is not exhaustively researched. The Royal Crown libraries may be of use to you to gather more information.”

Logan nodded, undoing the tie and beginning to thumb through the journal.

“Logan, it is imperative that you be discreet about your recovery efforts.”

“Why is this might I ask?”

“The gemstone you will recover is key to our metaphysical world. Our reality depends on its careful preservation. We used to enjoy a time of harmonious partnership with the Royals, you know. During this time the faculties of the heart and the mind were in union. The will of the people matched the thoughts of the people, and the Realm was in peace. However, the King--” he abruptly stopped.

Logan had sudden trouble identifying the man’s thought. The plane was curiously unfocused in a hazy fog as would happen, they learned in class when emotions froze thought is suspended projection.

Concerned, Logan searched the man’s face. “The... King, sir?”

“--has grown to distrust of my Academies,” he started again a bit distantly. “They have newly accused us of all out thought manipulation, that we suppress the visual indication of our projection, and tamper with the other Keeps.”

“But that is absurd!”

“I know, I know, but the King has deemed the Astral Plane to be at war now too. Sadly, the Academies can no longer be sure the Crown acts in the best interest of the union.”

“And the stone?”

“As a preventative measure, we must recapture the stone because it must not fall into the wrong hands. Royals, you see, are susceptible to their desire for absolute power. No matter if it is his remaining son, Prince Roman-- or whatever royal fool they will likely send with you to Drabb Keep-- absolutely no member of the Royal family can know the true nature of the gemstone text. Try not to sacrifice your commitment to the truth in doing so but I will not fault you, my boy, if you have to place distance between yourself and our highest principles for truth, should the stone be in jeopardy of being compromised.”

Logan looked up, “Understood.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Logan, a magicless bookmaster to the Academics of Magic must recover a highly sought after text, important to the very fabric of the universe. Roman, a prince with a chip on his shoulder, has to keep a close eye on the bookmaster for the good of the Crown and must somehow regain his father’s favor before the head of the Royal Guard does._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N (repeated from Ch. 1):** Hello! I wanted to let you know that these chapters 1 and 2 have been revised. They are a bit shorter but that is because I broke up these earlier chapters so folks could read something shorter to see if they liked the world. In fact, in the end the content is longer and aspects have been updated. If you don't mind-- it might be worthwhile to giving it a quick re-read. I'd appreciate it. Apologies, this is my first fanfiction. Little bumpy start, eh?

The Lake Castle’s posterior gardens slowly rolled into view underneath the evening sun. Logan repressed a shiver, perhaps his thin dress clothes were a bad idea after all. He frowned, he was unfamiliar with royal etiquette.

As evening sconces were being lit, Prince Roman Lake surveyed the bolted traveling trunks for tomorrow’s excursion with folded arms and a resigned sigh, like that of a put-out child. He would miss the winter festivities because his father wanted him to fix whatever was amuck in Drabb Keep. The name alone was enough to bore anyone to death.

But what’s more Roman had to accompany a stranger? Some magical smarty? A mage was it? The King warned they would have nothing to do with the success of the Academies; for the school was full of only crafty, deceitful, meddlesome, quarrelsome old fools. The King’s newly appointed head of the Royal Guard, Captain Draven Ceitius, was particularly agreeable to diminishing the power of the Academies. 

Roman sensed the grounds servants approaching to inform him the carriage was arriving. He trotted himself a few steps out from the loading galleries to receive the gentleman.

Hah! Well, perhaps the wizard was indeed a fool, teetering out of his carriage backside first. No grace whatsoever, no flourish. His self-satisfied smirk grew-- but then, the man turned around and Roman was taken aback by the sight of eyes much closer to his age. 

Puffs of breath steadily escaped between the two of them. Roman’s smirk pulled into a wide smile. The mage dipped his nose to the height of his knee, his right arm tucked in front, his left arm stock straight outward flinging his winter cloak backward.

The Prince did everything he could to repress an inelegant snort.

Logan, having very little in the way of knowing what to do, let the awkward silence persist. He once knelt to kiss the ring of the Ontological Supreme Magister but otherwise, signs of respect for hierarchy were dispensed with at the Academies. Was this required now? How correct was his bow? Who was supposed to speak first? Logan could not possibly speak first. 

“Not bad, but adjust the angle of this arm,” Roman corrected playfully, as if answering him.

Roman had since he could remember, a sixth sense as he liked to call it. His father discouraged its use, but Roman did so in secret, learning to suppress the red visual effects. All people had desires. They were delicate notions requiring a spark, kindling, nurturing and sometimes they would alight into a tough-to-tame blaze. Roman could draw these out. It was the only way he knew how to make the King happy.

The mage before him was so bubbling over with desire for correctness that Roman imagined him to be a kind of hissing kettle atop a lit stove.

The Prince grasped the man’s cold hand of his outstretched arm, repositioning his elbow higher before his lowered head merely trying to bring the gentleman out of his bow.

“Hmm yes, we will have to work on your stiffness, I nearly expect you to hiss at me Mr. Goose--” Roman was unexpectedly pulled forward a half-step as the man before him dropped to one knee.

Logan, misinterpreting the situation, kissed the ring which adorned the Prince’s pinky finger eliciting from him a shocked noise before it was smoothed over into a chuckle. Logan flushed, absolutely mortified that the Prince was laughing at him. He had not expected the Prince to be quite so expressive.  _ Was that the word? _ It was nice.  _ It was nice? Wait what? What exactly was nice? _

“There are few scenarios in which I would accept kisses from complete strangers, Mr.--” Roman paused, his facetious tone trying to make light of the awkward scene. 

“Prince Roman Lake, my name is Logan Kn-Knowles, bookmaster of the libraries at the Ac-academies” he chattered his response to the ground unable to suppress the rising shiver. 

“Come now man, we have to get you inside by the fire. Now--” Roman shifted his hand in Logan’s to give him a firm handshake, rising the bookmaster to eye level. “--ah, much better. I am a bit of a romantic, you see. I like to see a fellow’s eyes when they say their name. Y’know, to get a sense of their steadfastness. Mr. Logan Knowles, you are the one who requested the books from the Royal Library?”

“Yes-s, your Majesty.”

“Oh no, no my mage. That’s my father,” The Prince laughed again, the light snow crunched as he turned. He beckoned with his chin that Mr. Knowles follow him inside the castle through the kitchens. “You at least know I’m Prince Roman, yet you are unfamiliar with royal naming schemes? Were you not properly educated? And, so odd, have you no proper clothes? Hah! Why to be sure, you are in summer attire.”

Roman smirked having fanned the flame. Oh, the kettle was surely boiling now. What a simple rise out of teasing this poor man.

“I am not exactly a mage. I am a bookmaster and one does not want to put forth anything but ones best,” Logan remarked, his matter-of-fact tone translating to his movement stopping short of crossing the kitchen threshold to remove the condensation from his glasses.

“First impressions are key, bookmaster,” Roman conceded. “But winter clothes are good for the gander and damp clothing is not good for the goose. Come closer to the hearth and this man here will fetch your jacket for drying,” Roman motioned the young gallery servant at hand to remove Mr. Knowles’ cloak.

Stepping up to the hearth, the bookmaster hurried to remove his cloak himself before the servant could touch him, then allowed the lad to carry the cloak off for drying.

First impressions indeed. A certain well to do air, removing the cloak showed the bookmaster the advantage of his good figure. Oh goodness, Roman swallowed thickly. What was he thinking?

He was thinking:  _ Only cotton, and standard issued clothes? Academics so often dressed better. Why should a promising individual as this, hide his exterior by adopting this look? _

The man was so curiously unsettled by the simple exchange and briefly Roman wondered what it might take to convince him to dance at the winter festival.

As he warmed his hands, Logan frowned catching Prince Roman acutely considering him before he promptly ducked out through a narrow door out of the loading galleries.

“I am confused. Are we not traveling onward immediately?” Logan called after him stepping away from the fire over to the doorway. The Prince suddenly reappeared at the threshold, altogether too close and the bookmaster took a healthy step back.

Mages liked their space, closeness was not a proximity that tended to be maintained at the Academies. Logan felt so awkward in this simple moment. It disarmed much of his rational thought replacing it with fleeting feelings too quick to distinguish. A look of interest briefly came across Prince Roman’s face, and Logan wondered why it was replaced with a smirk. He handed Logan a heavyweight page’s vest. 

“You must not get out very much, bookmaster. You know... how the sun sets, right? Or does the school never let you get your nose out of your books? Anyway. It’s much too late to set out. So let me take you to dinner?

Before Logan could protest, the Prince interrupted. “Just change. My father called for your presence at dinner tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Logan, a magicless bookmaster to the Academics of Magic must recover a highly sought after text, important to the very fabric of the universe. Roman, a prince with a chip on his shoulder, has to keep a close eye on the bookmaster for the good of the Crown and must somehow regain his father’s favor before the head of the Royal Guard does._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Little bumpy start, indeed. I should be caught up with much of what I originally posted. The next bit requires some plot ground keeping so keep an eye out for that. Thanks again for your patience, dear readers.

Awaiting the dinner summons, the Prince thought it fine a time to show the bookmaster the library. He didn’t know what else would be as entertaining to the man. Combat swordsmanship? Yeah, that would be a ‘no’.

He pushed down on a pair of golden handles, opening up the main doors to the library. Holding out his arm, he invited the now page-vested bookmaster to enter first. 

A lit fireplace crackled opposite the entryway. It illuminated a massive globe-like structure sitting in the center of the room, it’s apex spanning up to the second floor. The Prince, undoing his sleeves to remove his jacket, strolled past Logan and towards a casually arranged seating area and desk underneath the structure. Logan chose to linger at the edge of the globe’s inner space. The structure warranted further inspection; never had he before seen such a behemoth metal display. Golden metal arms folding into spirals upon themselves, Logan counted three sets upon each other.

“Don’t let the lack of lighting fool you, this thing is awfully dusty in the daylight,” Roman said casually.

Logan toned a small, derisive noise.  _ Thing? _

The Prince hung his jacket on a clawfoot pedestal coming up from the floor, but judging by the brass ball atop the now coat rack, was clearly a part of the larger structure. He picked up a book up lying on the desk.

“Library not used much, hm?” Logan rolled his eyes. This fit perfectly with his expectations. “I thought it was only a rumor that Royals didn’t tend to read. What is this apparatus?”

“Of course we read!” said Roman indignantly, turning around with a hand immediately flown to his hip. He held out the book as though producing evidence but the other man was closely inspecting the structure.

“I know like, at least, a chapter on each of the keeps in my father’s realm. For example, this is the book you requested on Drabb--” 

The bookmaster still wasn’t looking at him.

_ Are you kidding me? _ He threw his chin up in the air dramatically, a defensive-sounding huff escaping him. The Prince tossed the book to the couch.  _ Royals knew things too. _

He mumbled, “I could tell you everything you need to know... there isn’t much.” Approaching the Bookmaster now, Roman didn't get what all his fuss was over. Eccentric art or whatever.

“I am surprised by this and particularly by it being built into the Castle. For its scale, it-- it is intriguingly not welded together and it appears to be a continuous piece? No bolts--yet it has nested rotating parts. Sturdy, malleable. Ahah, of course!”

“What?!” Roman blurted, slightly started by how loud that little epiphany was.

“Drabb Keep is indeed calamine rich, is it not?”

“How should I know? What does that matter?”

“Wasn’t in your chapter I see,” chided the bookmaster sounding an affronted noise from Roman.  _ How dare he _ \--

“This metal is approximately sixty percent copper alloy but it’s color, isn't it odd? Forty percent zinc enrichment makes it golden. In fact, you can still see the--well technically not a patina--but right here, the oxidation makes this pattern in the brass. Must have iron, which would…”

_ Oh goodness gracious.  _ Roman rolled his eyes. He was nearly fell asleep. Propping up his chin in his hand, he continued to wait.

“... high quantities of zinc can be found in calamine. Surely-- mages must have produced this apparatus?”

“Good question, specs. I really don’t know,” Roman shrugged, thoroughly bored though. “You can know all that just by looking at the-- the-- whatever it was that you said it wasn't.”

“Yes.”

Roman sighed. If he admitted it--which he would not--he was a little impressed.

“As to what it is, the King won’t even answer you on that. I’ve tried--wait don’t! Woah, woah!”

In an instant, the Prince had his hands on Logan’s forearms pulling them away. Logan had placed a heavy hand on an inset rung to test its range of movement when suddenly concentric circles on the other side of the room moved. Then responsively, larger ones, just above Logan’s arms, came down lazily but with alarming momentum.

The bookmaster would not take his eyes of the mechanism, swallowing and absently realizing his mouth had been open, he audibly snapped it shut. Roman chuckled and he sensed a warmth of curiosity alight, the sensation-- _a slow hum, it felt_ _rosy? What a remarkable feeling of contentment. Oh wait--everything actually looked rosy._

The red shimmer that Roman typically would visually repress had momentarily slipped forward.

Removing his hands hastily, Roman pulled back the use of his power as he took a step away. He now looked up at the thing--the apparatus--too. The Prince now reconsidered the dust old behemoth with new wonder after sensing the bookmaster’s profound desire to know how it worked.

A knock at the door came breaking their silence. The pageman rang out.

“Dinner has been set.”

\---

The smell of allspice floated through the air as scrubbers cleaned the floors in preparation for the winter festival The Prince and the Bookmaster navigated amongst ladders upon which pages stood setting wreaths in the rafters to the main hall but removing large canvases. Distinctly blue robed scholars were depicted amongst stately people in crowns.

“These paintings, they are--”

“I think old Kings and probably your archmagister? Bryant, is it? Father is removing them.”

“For the festivities?”

“Forever, I think.”

Roman’s boots clicked out his self-assured air, strikingly confidently across the floor. 

“By the Crown!”

He stopped just short of the dais where the high table and, at the head of which, a very loud and broad-shouldered man in regalia yelled. 

“Where’s your jacket, boy? Your mother taught you better. Princes must look stately at all times and this look is most unbecoming,” the King scorned immediately, possibly sprouting more grey hairs at his temples by the second.

_ This was the King? _ Logan observed that every bit of him, down to his squared ponytail, bobbled about agitatedly.

Roman glanced down. He’d forgotten his jacket in the library. He exhaled a suffering breath. His father was notoriously hard to please. Indeed, the King had never been one for excuse making but the Prince knew he could be persuaded, it just took a bit of rosy insight.

Unfurling his sixth sense, Roman thusly smoothed over the moment with an acquiescent, half-hearted laugh. “W-well I wished not to keep you waiting. Father--ah King Lake,” Roman gave a half-bow and nodded for the bookmaster to do the same. “I present to you Mage Knowles, the bookmaster at the libraries of the Academies.”

The King remained seated and folded his arms, “Mage? You look more like a page to me.”

“That’s because--” Logan began.

“Ah! That is--” Roman interjected quickly. “That is because I thought it best to distinguish him--uh, as separate from the Royal Lake family while on castle grounds.”

A moment of strain transpired and Roman could see a kind of sputtering flame arising from the bookmaster and the King. Feeling quite affronted, Logan slowly took a breath to suss out if he should speak up. He held his tongue and the King’s temper did dissipate.

“An Academic. Tell me. What is your line of study? Dark magic, transmogrification?”

“N-no, that is not a study we offer,” Logan readjusted his glasses. “I am magically inept, your Majesty. I tend to the books in their libraries.”

A flare, a brief spark ricocheted across Roman’s vision, like a crackle from the kindling had finally cracked off once. It was brief but meaningful. A stubborn want for kinship against a backdrop of loneliness. Roman swallowed his embarrassment, becoming hot in effect from all the fire coming off the bookmaster, hoping his father would let up soon.

“Who’s your family boy?” the King, having his perceived high ground, goaded Logan into retort.

“I-I don’t have any, your Majesty,” the bookmaster diffused without affectation. He longs to no longer be alone, eager for his future with the Academies. However, despite how fatherly the Archmagister was to him, Logan had indeed been orphaned at the Academies.

“No family! Hah, most unnatural to be without a family, lad. Not a figment of the dark sides are you?! Sent here to weaken the Lake family, eh?” the King bellowed. To compare Logan to those creatures of the Front was perhaps the crudest remark one could make.

The King clucked a noise of exasperated satisfaction. He waved his hand allowing them to come up and be seated. “I knew your numbers are low but I didn't realize Bryant was so desperate for admissions he would accept ineptitude. Now, what is your business--”

A stick rapped out an interrupting, hollow sound from the entryway. The door page indicated someone was to arrive.

A man, not much older in age to Logan, appeared, almost as though he’d practiced which pose to strike, in the doorway with a flourish. His trim black cape billowed out behind him with his gold finery gleaming even from afar. The King suddenly rose from his seat surprising the Prince, who also abruptly rose from his seat. Logan copied them, albeit hesitantly.

“Captain Draven Ceitius, Head of the Royal Guard,” called the doorman for a way of introduction.

“Ah! Excellent! Do you have it Captain?” the King called out exuberantly.

“Did I ever give you cause to doubt my capabilities, sir?” the Captain all but sang out in reply with confident mirth as he strode up before the dais and bowed deeply. Logan could now see that he had an intriguing, what appeared to be alchemical, scar of the side of his face. 

In a yellow-gloved hand, Draven procured a blue, palm-sized gem. To Logan, while it looked to be of blue beryl, it atypically caught the light by streaking it in uneven blue rectangles across the floor.

“No indeed! You’ve surely proven more capable than my son,” the King sneered. “And you’re positively more capable than the head magical buffoon of the Academies.” 

_ Falsehood _ , Logan’s mind automatically supplied. He looked to the Prince and a kind of crashing wave crested between Logan’s eyes just then. Self-doubt and at the peak of the wave, the Prince made a noise of dissatisfaction.  _ An astral projection? _

“Sit up straight boy, get the stone for me to see,” the King demanded as he seated himself again. Roman sighed heavily.

“If he’s so capable why not have him walk it to you,” muttered Roman, rounding the high table.

“Draven, how did you manage to get past the three chambers?” the King made no indication of having heard the Prince.

While Captain Ceitius boasted of his glorious if not what sounded like utterly far-fetched recovery, Logan perceived a torrent of the Prince’s idealized plots for acting upon his jealousy as he approached the Captain.  _ Most assuredly an astral projection. _

The Captain elegantly lowered himself into another perfect bow but his gaze was sharply trained on the Prince, one hand displaying the stone. A dazzling smirk ghosted his lips.

“Draven,” the Prince now suddenly completely captivated. Then, as far as Logan could understand a few things happened all at once.

The Prince’s astral torrent fell away just as Logan perceived a kind of vertigo as though his whole body was rushing towards the ground. Roman yelped, dropping the stone.

And then the Prince, having nearly fallen, was securely in the arms of the charming Captain.

“Carried away with my good looks, were you?” Ceitius chuckled loud enough for the room to hear, re-steadying Roman on his feet.

“You insolent simpleton! You could have damaged the stone,” seethed the King from his seat. 

“I-I’m not sure what came over me,” Roman admitted, a fierce blush cropping up his neck. Mortified that he should trip at the most inopportune time. He hastily swept a hand through his hair, only for it to fall out of place again.

Ceitius gently brushed the stray hair, “Not a worry, shall we change the subject?”

The Captain knelt to pick up the stone, swiftly repocketing it and walking the Prince back to his seat, then took up the spot on the other side of the King.

“Ceitius, the dark side projections still loom on the edges of the realm. Any crucial updates from the Front?”

“Well, that is somewhat complicated. The Academies are certainly to blame as now they have drawn up a Dragon Witch!”

And so, remarkably, the subject was changed. The stone was altogether forgotten. Logan was at a loss. As adept as the Captain was for elegant movement, so it seemed he also could twist a conversation with ease. Once Ceitius finished, however--

“I would gladly hear it again, Draven,” sighed Roman swooningly.

Logan grimaced. Perhaps Logan would be able to excuse himself to the library and take his supper elsewhere before hearing Ceitius repeat his claims with greater aggrandizement.

“So there she was! Deep in the cave, big, burly and purple. Actually her defeat was simple. A swipe with the sword and the beast’s head came clear off. With her gone. The Front at Drabb has subsided for now.”

The King clapped merrily. “Draven, the Crown is indebted to the responsibility you’ve taken on in regards to controlling the Front. Roman would have much to learn were the kingdom his whereas it would be protected in your stead. Of that, I am certain, my man!”

“I wouldn’t dream of replacing the late eldest Prince nor vye for the throne. However, surely it is nothing new to Prince Roman that he is a highly sought after catch. Love the new outfit, Roman.”

Roman whistled agreeably.

“Y’know despite that villainous scar, he is very kind. Oh! But how I long for a vaillant story of mine own!” Roman bemoaned to the bookmaster as the Captain continued with the King

“None of it sounds plausible,” Logan spoke up flatly but a little too loudly. Naturally, this was at the most inopportune time of silence.

They all peered at him for an explanation and Logan’s askance face promptly dissolved to regret for having said anything at all. 

The Captain’s face darkened first, promptly taking his boots off the high table.

“What is a page doing at the head table?”

“Oh Draven,” the Prince began, rather as if he was out of breath. “This? This is just an unimportant mage from the Academies of Magic.”

“A mage? What kind?”

“A book collector, Ceitius,” Roman replied with less wistful-a-performance. “We actually both set off for Drabb Keep in the morning.”

“Captain, if I had known you were fought the front in Drabb, I would have asked you to take lead but as it is, my son has a chance to prove himself this time. Why it’s the oddest thing! Drabb Keep reports incorrect sums for their ledgers this quarter. All are fictitious accounts.”

“Oh, how utterly alarming, my liege,” Draven drawled noncommittally. The Captain re-focused his attention completely on Logan. “Why Drabb Keep, bookmaster?”

Logan blanched and his breath held tightly in his chest.

“There is a library there,” the bookmaster lied, surprised by the apparent ease of it. “I am merely to make a simple report on their catalog of texts for the Academies’ records.”

  
The Captain hummed pleasantly, “Ah, so you are indeed an  _ unimportant _ mage.” 


End file.
